


Escape Response

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Choking, Dirty Talk, Episode Tag: s4ep11 Any Which Way But Zeus, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Knife Kink, M/M, Praise Kink, Rape Fantasy, Size Difference, Wet Dream, kidnapping kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 10:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13611225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: "Turns out, growing up in an environment where you’re constantly being kidnapped and tortured can give you a pretty skewed metric of what constitutes ‘normal’."Rusty has some kinks. Thankfully, Brock might be a little bit into that.





	Escape Response

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: I am not endorsing rape, these are two consenting adults acting out a fantasy, I have never been in a d/s relationship and this might not be Up To Snuff. 
> 
> Can we talk about Rusty saying to what he assumes are his captors in Any Which Way But Zeus that if they untie him he'll "do things to you your girlfriend would never do, i'll finger you while I suck-" like whoa, calm down there, my good bitch, 
> 
> Rusty's a fucking disaster and so, apparently, am I, enjoy this smut.

It’s cold, and dark. That’s the first thing Rusty thinks when he comes around. It’s cold, and dark, and he’s tied to a hard metal chair. It presses into his skin and yikes, he’s naked. Okay. That explains the cold.

He thinks back to the last thing he can remember. He’d been coming back from the showers, wrapped in a bathrobe on his way back to the empty room he shared with that football player. Rusty shudders a little. The dude probably didn’t even realize he was gone, he probably wouldn’t be back to the room until… what time is it, even? Rusty has no idea, he’s never had a very good internal clock. But his roommate alternated between staying out very late and bringing girls back to his bunk, and in either case he always ignored Rusty.

Rusty is snapped from his thoughts by the door of the room opening, letting in a flood of light and a tall, well-muscled figure in a three piece suit. He’s wearing a mask and carrying- Rusty gulps, his mouth very dry- a knife. He closes the door, plunging them back into darkness again. His shoes make a clicking sound against the floor as he approaches Rusty, who can feel himself trembling. Nonetheless, he tries to be confident.

“What do you want?” He snaps. “You know my father won’t stand for this, he filed paperwork with the guild specifically to prevent me getting kidnapped out of college. It’s been, what, a week?” Rusty swallows again as the man flicks his knife open and presses it under Rusty’s chin. "Give me time to adjust to a new environment, come on."

“Oh, I don’t think it will matter much.” The man says in a soft purr, his mouth close to Rusty’s ear. It sends a jolt through Rusty’s spine, a shivering mix of fear and arousal that causes him to jerk in his chair. He can feel blood trickling down his neck where the knife has nicked the skin. “I’m not planning to keep you here long enough for anyone to miss you.”

“Y-you’re not?” Rusty gasps as the knife presses deeper for a moment before withdrawing.

“No. Nobody even knows we’re here.” The man purrs again, sweeping around behind Rusty and fanning his free hand out over Rusty’s bare chest. Rusty feels his heart rate pick up and stifles a gasp.

“You like that, boy?” There’s a shuffling noise as the man moves in closer behind him. The knife doesn’t move from Rusty’s throat as the man pinches a nipple, eliciting another sharp breath from his captive. “Of course you do.”

“Don’t hurt me.” Rusty pleads into the dark room. His voice comes out much weaker than he’d have liked.

The man clucks his tongue. “Is that what you really want?” His fingers slide over the rope binding Rusty to the chair and down. Rusty bites back a sound at the sensation of the man’s hand on the sensitive skin there, between his hip and his stomach. “I thought not.” He murmurs into Rusty’s ear. Rusty tries to shake his head, to scoot the chair back and away from that hand, but the man is still holding the knife under his throat and has himself positioned in such a way to prevent the chair from moving. Rusty shivers as the man’s hand brushes against his cock, which jumps at the contact. The man laughs low in his throat.

“I heard from somebody else in the guild how hot this gets you. Tell me, Rusty Venture,” he hisses, pressing the knife more urgently against Rusty’s skin, “how many of your father’s enemies have fucked you?”

Rusty moans. “Please-“

The man continues to stroke his skin, closer and closer to his swelling cock without ever touching it directly. “Please, what?”

“Let me go.” Rusty begs, trying not to breathe too heavily lest the knife at his neck dig even deeper.

The man makes a soft humming sound, and then the knife is gone. Rusty almost sighs in relief, but it is cut short by the sound of the man slicing though the ropes. The hand exploring his thighs moves up, grabs him by the throat, and in one swift motion the man has pulled Rusty up and pushed him against the wall. The knife takes it’s place back under his chin.

“There. You happy now?”

Rusty’s whimper turns into a small sob as the man takes his cock in his hand. It’s slick with pre-cum and the man laughs again.

“That’s it. Fuck, you’re so hard for this, I bet you just want me to pull my cock out and jam it up that tight little ass of yours, huh?” Rusty breathes shakily, his eyes squeezed shut. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t, but he’s powerless to prevent it with the man’s knife at his throat.

The hand on his cock is withdrawn and there’s the sound of a zipper unzipping and the fabric of the man’s pants sliding down. Rusty’s stomach roils in fear and anticipation, and the man is forcing his legs apart, muttering obscenities and encouragements as he does so, and then he’s forcing himself into Rusty with controlled precision that makes spots appear in the dark behind Rusty’s eyes.

“That’s it. You love getting fucked like this, yeah, Rusty? You love it when somebody uses you like this, just another pawn in your dad’s endless games, just another tool he invented.” Rusty is moaning, his head falling back against the wall, and one of his hands drifts up to his neglected cock as the man continues ramming himself into his ass. “That’s it. You’re so fucking messed up, letting someone kidnap and rape you, and you love it, don’t you. You-“

There’s a sound of a door slamming, and Rusty is lying in his lower bunk in his college dorm, his cock achingly hard in his briefs. His roommate, Bruce or Brock or something, is depositing his bag by the door of the room.

“Oh hey, sorry I woke you.” He says, seeing Rusty staring at him. “Practice ran late, if you know what I mean.” He winks, and takes off his shoes, and grabs his shower caddy from the back of the door. Rusty shakes his head and rolls over with a grumble. The door opens and closes again. He's gone.

Rusty’s hand drifts down to his cock, his mind on the events of the dream. He’s well aware it’s not normal to get off thinking about being raped by a masked stranger, but, he supposes, it was inevitable. Turns out, growing up in an environment where you’re constantly being kidnapped and tortured can give you a pretty skewed metric of what constitutes ‘normal’.

Rusty wonders what it would be like if his roommate were just a little more observant. If he’d seen Rusty’s discomfort, the tent under his blankets. If he’d strode across the room, all six foot four inches of him, hulking muscle and blond hair, and flipped Rusty onto his back and pounded into him.

Rusty comes in his briefs thinking about his roommate fucking him wordlessly into the mattress.

It’s twenty odd years later, and the fantasy hasn’t changed, at the core of it. True, Brock Samson is his employee now, and, for all intents and purposes, his co-parent to Hank and Dean, but Rusty still has the occasional vision of Brock letting himself into Rusty’s room, pinning him to the bed, and taking what he wants from Rusty. Fucking him until he’s raw and screaming, one of his big hands on Rusty’s throat, holding him in place. Leaving him to clean himself up afterwards, staggering weakly to the bathroom and wincing at the pain between his legs as he washes the other man’s cum out of him.

The feeling of wanting to be used, to be thrown around like a doll or made to pleasure someone against his will, creeps up on him at the same inopportune times as it always has: when he’s tied up or blindfolded or in somebody’s cell somewhere. Rusty’s grown enough now to recognize how inappropriate it is to have harbored a rape fantasy since the age of fifteen, to have had daydreams about the kidnappings that have been a part of his life for much longer. The idea of sexuality divorced from the context in which Rusty’s emerged is strange and foreign to him, and the few instances of sex he’s had in his life have always been colored by the perception that he’s lying about it, somehow. The only one who’d really been able to fuck him the way he wanted to be fucked was Myra, and, well… there was a reason for that, wasn’t there. She’d been absolutely out-of-her-mind crazy. Rusty doesn’t like to think about it if he can help it.

But Brock… he thinks about Brock more than is probably safe. Brock cornering him in the lab, in the kitchen, in the hallway. Brock putting the VX-1 on autopilot and bending him over the pilot’s seat, where nobody can hear Rusty scream and nothing can make Brock stop. Brock and himself kidnapped by the Monarch and Brock fucking him hard and rough while he thinks of a way out, while he takes care of Rusty’s problems for him. Makes it all go away, the agony of choice.

There’s no reason for Brock to ever find out about his fantasy but of course he does. Rusty doesn’t even know how, or what gave him away, but one evening after Rusty and the boys have been kidnapped by some strangers and then rescued by Brock and Hatred together, Brock makes his way into the living room and stares down at Rusty with his arms crossed.

“Something I can do for you?” Rusty asks casually, barely glancing up from the book he’s reading.

“Yeah.” Brock growls. Rusty actually looks at him this time, and he looks angry. “You can tell me how long you’ve been into me and haven’t told me.”

Rusty feels something inside him shrivel in fear, and not the guilty, sexy kind of fear either. A panicked fear. The kind of fear that says ‘don’t leave me’ and breaks apart, leaving Rusty trying to pick himself back up again and failing, and failing, and failing.

“I… what kind of question is that?” Rusty says, setting his book down and crossing his own arms.

“You weren’t kidnapped today, Doc. The boys and Hatred tied you up in the garage because you felt left out of the big super-scientist shindig happening.”

Rusty’s heart skips a beat. He’d said some very… revealing things that afternoon, both about his questionable kinks and about his feelings towards the boys. He hopes whoever had heard him doesn’t hold any of it against him. He really does want the best for Dean and Hank, and he really does believe Dean was lucky to love the childhood all three of them had had to live through. But he doesn’t see how this connects to Brock’s statement.

“What does that have to do with you?” He scowls. Brock scowls right back.

“When I came over here this afternoon, the boys told me Hatred was just about to mount a fake rescue mission. Then Hank told me he thought you’d been different since I left, and that you’d tried to justify being broken up over it by treating him like shit.” Brock narrows his eyes. “ _Have_ you been treating Hank like shit?”

Rusty crosses his legs and stares over Brock’s shoulder, feeling very defensive. “We’ve been butting heads a lot more since you left, but it’s got nothing to do with you.” Rusty adjusts his glasses and stares at Brock. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said you said, under duress of torture, that he reminded you of yourself. Said the two of you hadn’t chosen this life, but had gotten stuck with it anyway. _And then_ he said that whether that was true or not, his old man had been coming down on him much harder since I left. Said whether or not you saw yourself in him, you shouldn’t take out missing me on him.”

Rusty sits back on the couch, stunned. How… unusually insightful of Hank. But also, how presumptuous of Brock. “And you just assumed this meant I’m in love with you?” he scoffs.

Brock’s expression softens. “No, Doc. Dean saying you were a better dad when I was around did.”

“Dean said that?”

“Yep. Backed his brother up, loudly, when I tried to defend you. They both agreed you’ve been doing real bad since I left and they both seemed to think it was because you were, uh, pining.” Brock sounds uncomfortable.

Rusty stares up at Brock, who stares down at him. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t read Brock’s face.

“So… were you ever gonna tell me about this or were you just gonna let it eat away at you forever?” Brock finally says. His expression is perfectly neutral.

Rusty picks his book back up and rifles through it to the page he’d been on to buy himself time to think. “I… well…” He sighs. “I didn’t see any reason you needed to know.” Which is true, he would have taken his attraction to Brock to his grave, content to jerk himself off to the thought of those strong arms holding him down and that huge cock spreading him open.

Brock grunts. Rusty lifts his book up so it’s covering his face and waits for whatever is coming next, for the inevitable abandonment. He had survived it before, whatever the boys might think, and he would survive it again.

Instead he feels calloused hands on his own, Brock taking the book from him and kneeling down so he’s at Rusty’s eye level on the couch.

“Maybe I wanted to know.” He murmurs, and before Rusty can say anything in response, Brock’s kissing him, hard and hungry.

Rusty melts into it. He wraps his arms around Brock’s neck and his legs around Brock’s waist and lets Brock lift him as he pushes Rusty back into the couch cushions. God, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him like this and even longer since it’s been someone who genuinely wanted him. Rusty feels like he’s going to shiver apart under Brock’s mouth, travelling across his face and down his neck, into the V of his speed suit. He lets out a breathy moan as one of Brock’s hands grabs his ass and pulls him closer, feels his cock pressed between them.

“You wanna go somewhere a little more private?” Brock says into his ear, his deep voice low and gravelly.

“God, yes.” Rusty says with a swallow. Brock picks him up easily, still kissing his neck, and takes them to Rusty’s bedroom. He closes and locks the door with one hand, holding Rusty in place on his hips with the other, and then moves forward and puts Rusty on the bed so carefully that Rusty laughs.

“I’m not made of _glass_ , you big idiot.” He says. Brock raises an eyebrow from his position laying on top of Rusty.

“Oh yeah? You want me to be rough with you, is that it?”

“Please.” Rusty grins. Brock, rather than complying, sits up. The loss of his weight feels more devastating than it should, Rusty thinks.

“I’m a lot bigger than you, Doc.” Brock says, and not in a suggestive way. Rusty rolls his eyes.

“Look, I can promise you, whatever you can dish out, I want it. I’ve been daydreaming about you fucking me for years.”

“Years, huh?” Brock smirks. Rusty groans internally _. Stupid._

“Yeah, _years_. So could we maybe, I don’t know, get on with it?”

One of Brock’s hands trails down Rusty’s chest and stops right above his hips. “What kind of daydreams have you been having?”

Rusty rolls his eyes again. “What do you think? I’ve been fantasizing about my big, strong bodyguard coming into my room and fucking my brains out.”

Brock starts unzipping Rusty’s speed suit. “Mhm, and what about it’s sexy to you?”

“Brock, really?” Rusty sighs. “What about you isn’t sexy?”

“As flattering as that might be, it’s really not the answer I’m looking for.” Brock pushes the speed suit down off Rusty’s shoulders. “What’s the, ah, tone of these fantasies?”

Rusty’s blood runs cold, because that makes it sound like Brock _knows_. How could he _know_? Is Rusty that obvious? Does he have a big neon sign flashing above his head that says ‘rape me’?

“Doc, calm down. You look like you’re about to have a panic attack.” Brock says. He stops undressing Rusty and looks at him with concern.

“I’m fine.” Rusty snaps. He takes a deep breath. “I might have, maybe once or twice, thought about you. Uh. Taking control. _Dominating_ me.” He winces a little, but Brock’s expression has cleared.

“Okay. Just wanted to check I wasn’t misreading this situation.” And he stands up from the bed and pulls Rusty’s speed suit the rest of the way off in one swift motion before doing the same with his briefs. He flips Rusty onto his stomach and drags him back to the foot of the bed, and Rusty can hear him unzipping his pants. Then he leans down over Rusty, kisses the spot under his left ear, and whispers to him. “If you want me to stop, say-“

“Fishbowl.” Rusty says with a shiver as one of Brock’s hands drifts down his spine.

“Okay.” Brock responds with another little kiss, and then he’s pushing Rusty down into the mattress as he spreads his legs. My god, where did he get the lube from? Does he just carry it with him all the time? The last coherent thought Rusty has is that he wouldn’t be surprised if Brock carried lube on his person, and then Brock pushes into him and he’s stretched so full he wonders if he’s going to rupture something. Rusty chokes out a gasp, tilting his head up for air, and feels himself pulled up by one of Brock’s hands on his throat.

He sputters as he’s pressed against Brock’s chest, held there and feeling the small metal plate against his shoulder blades and Brock’s fingers pressing against his windpipe. Brock’s other hand is on his hip, squeezing tight enough to bruise, keeping him steady while Brock continues to fuck him, hard and heavy.

“You like this, Doc?” Brock hisses. Rusty nods shakily. His glasses are sliding down his nose, and Brock lets go of his throat for a moment to grab them by the bridge and toss them further up the bed, where Rusty watches them fall to the floor as the vibrations from Brock pounding into him knock them away. The hand on his hip is travelling inward, towards his cock. “You like getting fucked like this, getting fucked by someone who could kill you in an instant?” Rusty moans a little at the words. “Or do you just like somebody else using you? I bet you get hard when you get kidnapped, don’t bother lying to me. I’ve seen the way you act when you’re tied up.”

Rusty gasps as Brock’s thumb flicks over the head of his cock. “Look at how hard you are right now, Doc. You’re so fucking hard for me.”

Rusty chokes out a “yes” before Brock squeezes his throat momentarily, and his eyes roll back in his head at the sensation. “I could have been fucking you when I came to rescue you for years.” He says in a low voice, controlled, deadly. “Or did you want _them_ to fuck you? The Monarch and Phantom Limb and the others?” Rusty shakes his head. “I bet you did. I bet you spread your legs for every villain who ever offered, all they had to do was provide some rope and some nipple clamps.” Brock’s hand travels down from Rusty’s throat to his chest, and his fingers graze over Rusty’s right nipple. Rusty jerks his hips forward at the contact, his cock sliding through Brock’s loose grasp. Brock laughs quietly.

“What a fucking slut you are. Look at you.” Brock’s voice is low and mocking, but there’s a caressing quality to it that makes Rusty feel like his insides are being replaced with something warm and smooth, like melted chocolate. He’s so full, Brock’s cock still pounding into his ass and a feeling swelling in his chest and a heat tightening behind his stomach. When Brock kisses the back of his neck he comes with a cry, all over Brock’s hand. He feels Brock come inside him an instant later.

When Rusty used to imagine this, he’d usually imagine Brock getting up and leaving, maybe slapping Rusty’s ass for good measure, and Rusty himself lying in a whimpering pile for a short time until he can summon up the strength to go get cleaned up. That doesn’t happen. Instead, Brock climbs into the bed and arranges Rusty snugly next to him, holding him close and stroking a hand down his back. He cleans them both up with some tissues from Rusty’s bedside table and kisses his closed eyelids and the tip of his nose. When Rusty lets out a weak chuckle, Brock nudges him to open his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Brock looks troubled. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then says, “Sometimes people don’t know what they’re getting into.”

Rusty lets out a small sigh, one hand tracing the edges of the sheet of metal on Brock’s chest. “I suppose that’s true.” He thinks about loss, and leaving, and wonders if Brock is going to walk out on his family again. “But I think… neither one of us really did the first time, so this makes up for it.” He thinks of Myra, and the boys, and Brock showing up just when he needed him, always just when he needed him.

“Yeah.” Brock agrees, and he squeezes Rusty’s shoulder. “So…”

“So…?” Rusty replies, his eyes drifting closed.

“’Fishbowl’?” Brock’s tone is teasing.

“From ‘Wish You Were Here’.” Rusty says. Brock snorts. “Don’t you dare kinkshame me, I will kick you out of this bed so fast that you’ll-“

“Yeah, yeah.” Brock pulls him close and kisses his forehead. “Be quiet, Doc.”

For once in his life, Rusty listens.


End file.
